


Project MESA

by ThatBoyFromNY



Category: Buzzfeed The Try Guys (Web Series)
Genre: Cooperative game theory, Gen, Kidnapping, Mild Gore, Moral Dilemmas, Murder, Survival, mentions of past emotional abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-07
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2020-01-06 09:34:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18385775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatBoyFromNY/pseuds/ThatBoyFromNY
Summary: The Try Guys are kidnapped and forced to participate among eight others in a twisted experiment, testing the very depths of their morality and how far they’re willing to go to save their lives.





	Project MESA

_**Zach** _

"Still no response?" Ned asks me over the phone.

"No, he's not answering my calls," I respond before throwing my body onto the bed.

Ned lets out a sigh. "Well, it's past one o'clock and we're filming in the morning. Get some sleep, I'm sure he'll turn up before the shoot with a massive hangover. And no memory of who he almost screwed the night prior."

He's right. Whenever Eugene goes AWOL for a couple of hours, he's most likely at some random bar, with one too many tequila shots in his system, grinding on everything that moves. But things are different this time.

I feel it in my gut that something's wrong.

"Maybe he’s escaping tomorrow's video while he still can," I joke, trying to hide my unease.

"Come on, the elderly series isn't that bad of a concept. I don't get why you hate it so much."

"I don't _hate_ it, I just don’t want to think about growing old. It reminds me that my life will be over one day." I wiggle due to the aching in my back and fight the urge to prop a pillow under my legs. (Apparently, doing so will make the pain worse.) "I wish I could sit this one out."

"And you didn't speak up while you had the chance because?"

"Because Keith. He seemed pretty excited about this. The last thing I need is to give that man a reason not to smile.”

"Fair enough," he says. There’s a clattering sound on the other end of the phone. "I get it though, death is scary to think about. I mean, imaging dying at thirty, not having the chance to grow old."

"Not helping." Now that I think about it, my phobia gives a better meaning to my involvement with The Try Guys. 

Thanks to our show, I'll die one day knowing I accomplished so much in the world. Whether I'm gray or thirty when it happens, I'll have nothing to regret. And I have three assholes to thank for that.

The same clattering from before disturbs my thoughts, followed by a swear from Ned. It sounds like he's messing with his window blinds.

"Everything all right?" I ask.

"Not really, there's this van parked outside my house. The dude is just sitting there... fucking creepy. What should–" His voice cuts off.

"Ned?" I check the screen of my phone. The call ended.

I go to my contacts and dial his number again, only to receive no response. It took seven missed calls for me to admit defeat. I haven't exhausted all my options yet, so I scroll to find Ariel's name.

Before I can press the call button, my head rises from the pillow at the sound of glass shattering downstairs. I’m home alone and Maggie is out of town.

Though Bowie is barking up a storm, I faintly hear the stairs leading to the second-floor creak. 

Someone's here. Someone's coming upstairs. They're getting closer.

I always thought if I found myself in this situation, I would know what to do. But despite the many actions I could take: calling the police, hiding; I freeze in place. Freeze and stare at the bedroom door like an idiot.

Bowie's barking comes to a halt and I pray to god this bastard didn't hurt him. The footsteps also cease, leaving nothing but silence.

The door handle slowly turns.

Without thinking, I rush to the other side of the room, using my body as a barricade for the door. As I reach for the lock, the intruder pushes with all their strength, throwing me to the ground.

Next thing I know, a pair of hands are holding my wrists in place. I kick, scream, flail my legs, do whatever I can to fight back. Another hand presses against my mouth, muffling my cries for help. There's a sharp sting in my neck as every ounce of strength leaves my body, like poison coursing through my veins. Everything feels numb. Everything fades to black.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I open my eyes to what sounds like a dozen muffled screams. As my eyes adjust to the dimly lit room, I notice the circle of people with their wrists bound to chairs and duct tape over their mouths. I realize I'm in that circle and try to free my arms.

Nothing. No matter how much I squirm, my hands will remain tied behind my back.

I peer around the circle and recognize the faces of three people I know, all spread out from each other.

Ned. Keith. Eugene. They're all here.

The sound of a door opening and shutting echoes throughout the room. Then footsteps as three men approach us.

Oh god, two of them are holding pistols. Shit, this is bad.

The two with pistols circle around us while the third stands back watching, as if admiring a piece of art.

One of them stops behind a woman. He raises the gun, aiming the barrel at the back of her head, and pulls the trigger. The sight is like a firecracker, lighting up the darkness for only a split second. Her body goes limp as everyone's desperate cries grow twice as loud.

Blood sprays from the heads of those around me, one by one. It's like a twisted game of Russian Roulette, except I'm not the one pulling the trigger. Instead, my fate is in the hands of someone who enjoys my suffering.

Just as I begin to believe this can't get any worse, one man aims his gun at a little girl. She has to be around seven.

_No. No. Please no._

I close my eyes as the discharge pierces my ears, the smell of gunpowder filling my nostrils. I try desperately to distract myself from what is happening, waiting to wake up and realize this is all some sick dream.

The blood of a young woman sprays my face, bringing me back to reality. The shooter and I make eye contact and I know he has chosen his next target.

His gun presses against the back of my head. My heart pulses in my ears. Streams of tears fall from my eyes, carrying blood as they run down my cheeks. I want to scream. I want to beg. But the tape prevents any words from escaping my lips. I can hear my friends muffled pleads around me. Seeing them worried only makes this worse.

 _Please don't do this_ , is all I can think, as if I expect him to read my mind.

_Please. I don't want to die._

_I don't want to die._

_I don't want to die._

"No." The third man says. I almost forgot he was standing there. "Leave him." As he orders, the man behind me steps away but continues firing rounds at the others.

By the time it's over, more than a third of us have become nothing but rotting flesh. It was the first time I witnessed the end of a life, multiple lives for that matter. Innocent people robbed of everything that made them human, reduced to nothing but sacks of meat. If I'm grateful for anything, it's that my best friends are still alive. They're still here with me.

I'm still here with them.

"Down to twelve," the man who was watching us said. "Consider yourselves lucky, you get to live another day. However, that doesn't mean I will let you go. No, I have very special plans for each of you."

The two minions lower their pistols but pull out syringes. One approaches me and the sharp sting in my neck from earlier comes back to haunt me. My whole body goes numb as I drift off to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. I’m very new to writing fanfiction, (and writing in general), so if you have any feedback or advice, I’d love to hear it.


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